The following is a log of roleplay on Star Stones MOO, logged by D'ney.
All references to the world and characters of Pern™ based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction
are copyright© 1967 by Anne McCaffrey, all rights reserved. The Dragonriders of Pern® is
registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey and used here with
permission.
Weyrling Grounds
When in use by a class of Weyrlings, the Weyrlings' training ground area is
often busy with Weyrling pairs employed in practice drills or relaxing. The
air space overhead can be a danger zone to those not used to the antics that
young pairs tend to engage in, often seeming crowded as young dragonets test
their wings. The ground area seems spacious, never being quite as cramped as
the area overhead. Well-worn paths in the packed sand show the take-offs and
landings that many Turns have dug. The southeast section of the bowl is
northwest from here and in the southeastern direction is where the Weyrling
pairs call 'home'.
Perched somewhere up high, you see Satler.
Betha is here.
The following dragons are here: Muppeth, Sanath, Llywith, Aidubaith, Daishoth,
Circeoth, Kezasuth, Murath, Olexath, Nhaeth, and Remorth
From here you can go:
Lake
Weyrling Barracks
The current weather report:
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IgenW: Center Bowl Area (#5491)
It is a bright, cheery day. It is a spring morning.
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Nhaeth is chafing at the straps again, like a restless runner snorting at oats
-- D'ney's saying something towards the brown's headknobs over the immense
distance, her voice rising into a yell at intervals. "Move left; yeah put
your head there..." The 'why' is surely questionable.
D'ney
Short, slightly gaunt around the edges, this adolescent bears Igen's glare in
the burnt brownness of her skin. Uncertain growth has worked away the
childish plumpness from the avid angles of nose and chin, further accenting
pinched features with their harsh planes and abrupt peaks. Below forehead's
darkness, a primal acidity informs her hazel eyes, restrained by stubborn
mahogany curls -- but flaring inevitably into the compact rebellion of a
muscled shape and habitually agile motion.
A golden-yellow linen tunic drapes from her shoulders, straggling under a
thick jet belt at the waist and falling nearly to her hips. The trousers of
black linen are similarly buckled in to keep the outfit snug against the
hazards of adolescent frolic, its hems disppearing into a pair of
extra-polished wherhide boots.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single, simple loop, wrapped
with a brown sisal ribbon, to denote her rank as an Igen Weyr Junior
Weyrling, rider of Nhaeth.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Rip
Inky dollops of dusty rose salmon coalesce the creases of his vast expanse of
seasoned black cherry hide, cluttering into gangly extremities seeped in
sepia before vanishing beneath a facade of dusky darkness. Sleek sheets of
lengthy mocha-washed wings drizzled with an ethereal edge of frosty pink
coral veins engulf him, cluttering the smooth, rounded ridges that bud from
his elongated neck and rosewood headknobs, leaving only a whim of the large,
expressive eyes that light his nervous triangular head. Hints of deep well
metallicy limn his soot-smudged physique, creating golden glimpses that
overshadow the disproportions and discrepancies and glitter the lengthy
starscape frame from rich hazelnut tail to clever ebon talons with heroic
motes of succulent, suffering incandescence.
Leather as brown as his dark hide winds over his bony length, whorling
patterns where the ridges shrink into nothing and girding his underbelly's
frail jet.
Nhaeth is 1 Turn, 1 Month, and 5 Days old.
Waddling into crannies where he has no right to belong.
In comes Betha onto the grounds with Remorth waddling along behind her.
Spying weyrling and dragon Betha calls out, "Morning weyrling." Fingers tuck
at towel that threatens to let loose and expose the rider to the world but
with a simple twist the towel is brought to bay. Behind Remorth is his tail
swishing about nearly playful, but perhaps some other meaning.
D'ney glances across just as the huge tail whisks over her head, smacking
firmly into dust and sending a shower of grit onto the teenager's already
browned boots. The apology that follows mingles with Nhaeth's rumble of
greeting and the weyrling's own shouted "Hello!" Fingers quirk reflexively
in the usual salute, even, and she stands briefly at attention.
(Nhaeth) Remorth sees: Nhaeth skims the faintest touch of coral-and-sienna
against your mind's outer walls. Curiosity trails, barely restrained, to
slop up at the edges.
Ooooh, now that's a weyrling. Betha gives a snappy salute but the towel has
other ideas...*ploop* *snatch* fingers quickly grab the towel and bring it
back up to cover where it should. "And how are you two doing this fine,
wonderful morning?" Freed hand makes a broad delightful jester before coming
to rest against companion leg.
(Nhaeth) Remorth flickers in, shimmering warm soothing waters seem to wash
across the silent link ((Greetings))
D'ney pays little heed to the towel: hazels follow the snappy movements a mere
heartbeat or so before she swivels away briskly. "We're okay. I'm trying to
get the straps right." A pause for bending over, emerging with a fistful of
worn leather and hide to wave at the pair as trophy. "Been swimming?"
(Nhaeth) Remorth sees: Nhaeth can be polite, unlike his boy, and his words
certainly are beneath that hesitant quiver of anticipation -- water! -- <<
Did you have fun there? >>
"Yep, and the best time of the morning too. Morning's first light." Rider
eyes the straps from where she stands then the dragon to whom they are to go
on. "Well there's not trick to it if you measured them right. Just get
Nhaeth to sit still, upright and you'll get 'em on right as rain. Then a
little tug here, and a little tug there and there you have it." Betha waves
a backwards hand to Remorth. He steps forwards to show his straps. He
responds to Nhaeth's inquirry (( We did. The lake is wonderful this time of
morning. ))
"I missed the first light," D'ney confides casually, tossing away the stray
handful of used rope and bedraggled hide. "Used to catch it more often,
before Nhaeth started wanting to sit here every morning." The burnt face
turns up to glance off Remorth, and then a grimace chases the pained
expression away as well. "Oh, and our couch /is/ clean, ignore what he says."
Setebos wakes up from his nap.
A soft simple smile is on Betha's lips, "Oh, don't worry about it. It's to
early to do any inspecting of anything. I trust that if it is in disarray
that you'll take care of it either way. Now let's see you get those straps
on your dragon and see how they look."
With a sleepy creel and a blink of eyes, Setebos slips off to sleep.
Niceness. Perhaps D'ney ought to be suspicious at this point, but the general
euphoria is affecting even her, and a clammy smile alights on her lips to
meet the assistant weyrlingmaster's. "Sure, I was going to do that anyway,"
she utters instead, pulling the buckle taut against cherry-dark hide.
"Doesn't hurt, right?" A few nudges and shoves later, she pats Nhaeth's
side, squinting at the (admittedly awry) straps.
Betha's head tilts to one side, hair kissing the right shoulder, "Hmmm, maybe
you need to see if the lengths of the straps are all the same? Well as
proportionate as they might get. If one lenght is long or short that could
cause the ill fitting."
D'ney accepts the advice with fair grace, getting down to one knee to tug on a
buckle. "Well, I've got this attached here, so maybe I can shorten it." A
sigh follows; the physics of strap-making escape her in this regard. Nimble
fingers fly over first one side, then the other, slotting hook into buckle
with rough carefulness.
Betha smiles, "After you get those basic adjustments then you'll have a good
idea. But you'll have to watch for sever stretching. Your dragon is still
growing. Wouldn't want to see your brown turn blue for lack of air."
There's a trundlebug tramping cheerfully over the patch of ground next to
Nhaeth, who straightens spindly wingsails automatically, crashing the tips
into Dallan's shoulder. She stumbles, hand flailing at air for a moment till
balance is regained. "Watch it -- sorry," the youngster returns to Betha,
grinning with perverse humour. "He nearly had another sprain last sevenday.
Won't let him do it again, of course."
Brow arches, "Well you should sternly tell him to take it easy. No sense in
getting injured before getting the chance to fly against thread." Rider
takes a couple of steps back and leans up against Remorth, "Sill a little
shaky on the flying thing there?" Fingers reach back to stroke blue's hide,
a calm smile daples Betha's lips.
Nhaeth loops his hazel tail about the similarly-coloured Dallan, a sheepish
cast to his blunt muzzle. And indeed, a tinge of blue has begun to shade the
folds around his eyes, the orbs themselves currently darting from blue to a
precarious lavender. "No, no," D'ney begins to affirm, clapping fingers to
the steadying tail, "He's tried flying again since you taught us how to and
he's much better now. I think he needs con-/fi/-dence in his wings." A hard
word -- she took two days to learn it, too.
Betha nods slowly, "Hmmm, well You two work on that confidence stuff. Don't
want to get all shakey when flying against thread. And in a few seven day
you'll be going between. Now that's a confidence shaker."
D'ney isn't eloquent at the best of times: this time she simply gapes at
Betha, lower lip quite unable to reach the upper, so her words emerge more
slurred than is usual. "I'm not scared. And okay, you--he isn't too. I
think he'll get over it when we really get between." Nhaeth promptly negates
part of that by looking sheepish, the yellow whirling into an anxious,
skittish scarlet. "I promise."
Betha nods, "It's not the getting that worries me...it's the coming that does.
You two must think as one. Shore up each other's confidence. Now enough
harping. how the straps now?"
Think as one; the pair demonstrate that for a short time, in the next exchange
of faintly worried glances, and then one steels into determination and the
other swishes his wings into Igen's dust. "Think I know what you mean," the
tomboy assures, stamping a boot into the ground. "They look straighter now."
Soft snort.
Betha smiles, "Well get on up there. Let's see how they look."
D'ney nods sharply, dips her head in conference, then clambers onto Nhaeth's
proffered foot, from thence boosting herself onto the weyrling dragon's broad neck.
You mount Nhaeth.
Inky dollops of dusty rose salmon coalesce the creases of his vast expanse of
seasoned black cherry hide, cluttering into gangly extremities seeped in
sepia before vanishing beneath a facade of dusky darkness. Sleek sheets of
lengthy mocha-washed wings drizzled with an ethereal edge of frosty pink
coral veins engulf him, cluttering the smooth, rounded ridges that bud from
his elongated neck and rosewood headknobs, leaving only a whim of the large,
expressive eyes that light his nervous triangular head. Hints of deep well
metallicy limn his soot-smudged physique, creating golden glimpses that
overshadow the disproportions and discrepancies and glitter the lengthy
starscape frame from rich hazelnut tail to clever ebon talons with heroic
motes of succulent, suffering incandescence.
Leather as brown as his dark hide winds over his bony length, whorling
patterns where the ridges shrink into nothing and girding his underbelly's
frail jet.
Nhaeth is 1 Turn, 1 Month, and 6 Days old.
Waddling into crannies where he has no right to belong.
(Nhaeth) Betha watches the weyrling boost herself onto the weyrling's neck.
"Well? Does he have any complaints about them? Also, if they are new it'll
take a few days to get broken in. But in the mean time you can oil them and
that should soften them a bit."
(Nhaeth) Rip, the little brown perched on Nhaeth's neck is jostled by D'ney's
climb, and takes the leap onto her arm, chittering defiantly all the while.
D'ney herself, beset by these distractions, takes time to arrange the
'lizard's claws on her shoulders, then to buckle her riding belt to the
flight straps, before replying: "I've pounded and oiled them -- should be
comfortable enough. He's okay with them." But then Nhaeth's okay with a lot
of things.
(Nhaeth) "Get him to walk around. Get 'em to stretch a bit, also, watch the
stretching. I've never seen it yet, but I don't want to either. To see a
weyrling hanging upside down because the straps were loose enough to slip."
Betha stifles a chuckle at the thought of some weyrling hanging upside down
from riding straps.
(Nhaeth) Nhaeth the behemoth waddles forward a step. His straps -do- stay in
place; in fact, the danger's more about chafing from tightness than any
possible looseness in buckles or girth. By virtue of habit, he starts to
slink in the next few waddled steps, underbelly reaching closer to the ground
than necessary and his head dangling a bit unsteadily -- by that same
habitual action, D'ney begins yelling at him. "C'mon, straight. We have to
march /properly/."
(Nhaeth) The humour Betha's chuckling at doesn't reach this weyrling either;
she's too occupied with the physical and mental reprimands.
(Nhaeth) Betha turns slowly to watch the pair, "Properness does have it's
place but if his hide is getting rubbed in a fashion he doesn't like then
you'll have to figure out how to remedy it." A light breeze swirls about
Remorth and Betha, it's invisible fingers play at the rider's towel. "You
might want to find something you can line the straps with. Something soft
that will lessen the irritation against his hide."
(Nhaeth) Remorth sees: Nhaeth informs, with a mental imagery as earnest as
his voice is, that << I always walk like that. My boy tells me not to, and I
try ... >>
(Nhaeth) Remorth flickers in, shimmering warm soothing waters seem to wash
across the silent link (( Do what is natural for you. )) The word boy
causes him to ponder a moment then inquire of his rider on something then
with an amused chuckle (( Yours is not a boy. )) Uh, here it comes.
(Nhaeth) Nhaeth does try, raising his forequarters laboriously and striving
thus to lift the rest of him, like a heavy load only doubled by his painful
consciousness of the others' presence. The resulting motion is a forward
lumber, covering distance only slowly, but he manages not to graze his limbs
against anything and eventually evens out to a fair waddle. Pausing, the
triangular head regards his peer shyly, in the manner of the curious
schoolboy.
(Nhaeth) Remorth sees: Nhaeth glides over the waters of your mind, tipping
his head neatly in passing. His question skates those selfsame waters,
dipping into soft query under cover of a mid-level wave: << Why not? >>
(Nhaeth) Yep, here it comes. Poor unsuspecting Betha. The she gets the brunt
of his humor sometimes way to much. Blue's head draws back, neck curving he
takes a few steps back, throwing his rider off balance. Betha squeaks from
being startled. Blue maw nips at rider's towel and yanks it off. (( Does
your rider look like this when swimming in the lake or when not wearing
anything? )) Betha just sort of stands there turning various shade of Anime
red.
(Nhaeth) Astride Nhaeth, D'ney fingers hide in the meantime. "It's been
padded over and over again," she's saying of the straps, those poor straps
that were reworked quadruple times to get them past inspection. "They
shouldn't hurt Nha--" The bombshell drops in the midst of these words, and
she splutters her incomprehension. "What the-- Nhaeth!"
(Nhaeth) Remorth sees: Nhaeth echoes D'ney's not-understanding in this issue,
but in his mild, quiet way. << I am not sure. My Dallan looks a little like
that, but with less flesh. >> Snippets of sights, sounds and smells of
firelizard make surface then, bubbling in consciousness. << I have seen
others from my little friends at the lake, and my boy is not exactly like any
of them... >>
(Nhaeth) Astride Nhaeth, D'ney is looking decidedly paler than before, with
the tips of her ears flushing to pink. Not as red as Betha is, though.
(Nhaeth) Now at this point Betha might be ever so irritated with Remorth. But
she gathers her composure and turns about and jumps up to snatch the towel
from his mouth. With it back in her possesion it gets wrapped back around
her. "Remorth, do that again and you'll be eating wherry for the next
feeding." Remorth snorts amusingly. (( Your rider still grows maybe. ))
Neck and head twist to glance down eye to eye with his mate and looks into
her eyes. She hmmmphs then reaches up to scritch the underside of his jaw.
Remorth then adds after reaching deeply into rider's memories (( When my
rider was young she was too. But she grew. Of course when she was with
baabee she grew biiiiig. )) Betha's lips purse and she just glares at
Remorth. She finaly says, "There's no stoping them once they get like this."
She sighs.
(Nhaeth) Remorth sees: Nhaeth transfers thoughts, sandy ones about having
been grown-up all the time and such. << I have seen a few babies, and they
are lovely, >> he ponders on, hovering on the ruts and waves of wave-borne
utterance. << Was my boy like that? And what do old and young mean? >>
(Nhaeth) Astride Nhaeth, D'ney leans forward in her straps, adjusting the belt
around her waist to accommodate her new stance. "Be careful when doing that,
Remorth. Don't know when there're proddy riders around." A hand waves
dismissal from her seat, an impossibly small gesture in the immensity that is
draconic size. "This boy or girl thing doesn't matter, you know. I don't
care for it, and Nhaeth doesn't. That's it." Denial's the agenda, see?
(Nhaeth) Remorth flickers in, shimmering warm soothing waters seem to wash
across the silent link ((They are...but..as they grow they want more tension
they cry they wine they make little messes )) As if rubbing a claw under
chin his voice softens ((Young and old mean lots of things. When young one
is unable to help themselves, as they get older they can take care of
themselves. Or something like that. It is a passage time. )) voice drifts
off..
(Nhaeth) Betha chuckles, "Well you'll set him right when the time comes."
Fingers reach up to push hair back. "Well weyrling, those straps look
wonderful. Them them a good walking about, keep inspecting them from time to
time. Then every few months you'll have to make a new pair. Scorings and
all that. It's always a good idea to have two pairs of straps for your
mount." Eyes drift up to Remorth, "Well D'ney, Nhaeth, we must be getting
back to our weyr. You two have a wonderful day."
(Nhaeth) Remorth sees: Nhaeth listens -- laps in -- soaks up the older
dragon's musings as eagerly as any puppy, head tilted to catch the light. <<
My D'ney says I am young. >> In the simple shiftings of youth, his rapt
attention leaps back to his boy. << Thank you for teaching us. >>
(Nhaeth) Betha clambers up limb and straps, finally settling on Remorth's neck.
(Nhaeth) Remorth flickers in, shimmering warm soothing waters seem to wash
across the silent link (( You are welcome ))
(Nhaeth) Astride Nhaeth, D'ney flops over her 'mate's neck, forehead furrowed
in the throes of difficult thought. "Okay, I guess we'll have to do that.
Bye, Betha, Remorth." And never mind titles; the preoccupation's too great.
(Nhaeth) Astride Remorth, Betha shakes her head and hangs on for dear life.
"Take care!"
(Nhaeth) Remorth jumps to the sky with such a flourish that something suddenly
flutters in the sky. Is it thread?! Shards no, it's Betha's towel lazily
falling to the ground. Where it flops to the ground, dead.
(Nhaeth) Remorth lets his wings caress the air moving his bulk toward Sky
Above Weyrling Grounds.
(Nhaeth) Astride Nhaeth, D'ney raises her head and hand, fist clenching and
unclenching periodically, belatedly. "Clear skies!"
(Nhaeth) From Sky Above Weyrling Grounds, Remorth lets his wings caress the
air moving his bulk toward Sky High Above Southeast Bowl.